


Alolan Promises

by badgerthief



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: F/F, M/M, it eventually gets really shippy and less angsty but please bear with for a couple of chapters, oh boy this is a slow burner
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 10:04:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8745967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badgerthief/pseuds/badgerthief
Summary: At ten years old, Guzma has stronger convictions than many adults of fifty. When he witnesses a wimpod get subjected to some horrific treatment, he makes a vow to protect it. This promise changes the course of his life forever, for better and for worse.





	1. Wimpod

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually the first fanfic I've ever published (besides a shit show I made when I was a teenager omg) so any criticism is welcome and encouraged! This is a bit of a slow burner, but I've been thinking a lot about Guzma's backstory, and it wouldn't be complete without including these parts. Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and I promise it becomes a bit more shippy and less angsy later :)

 

Guzma is only ten years old when he steals his first Pokemon. 

 

In his defence, he's not a bad kid; a little rough around the edges perhaps, but definitely not bad. Still, Guzma had convictions, and those convictions occasionally (read: always) got him into trouble.

 

It happened one Saturday evening when the sun was low and the lediba buzzed merrily up in the treetops. It had been raining that day - a tropical rainstorm in the midst of summer - but it had given way to a clear sky and a comforting, warm breeze. 

 

Guzma was just hanging around the local park, the usual place he escaped to after having a blazing row with his pops. He was alone, as per usual, just trying to keep out of trouble as best he could.  Problem was, Guzma was a trouble fucking magnet.

 

The sun had long since set, and some older kids had begun congregating in the park, drinking and smoking and whatever. Guzma didn't feel intimidated by them per se, but he knew his place, so he continued to swing absent-mindedly in the play area a good few metres away. Still, he could hear them, their alcohol addled brains gracing them with ungodly volume and inhibition. 

 

Usually, it was all white noise -- pretty harmless crap. They'd brag about shit they'd gotten away with at school, or maybe which base they’d reached with whoever they were 'dating'. Cool. Guzma didn't give a shit. Occasionally, though, they'd talk about Pokemon - and that really piqued his interest.

 

"Lookit this champ," one cooed, releasing a Pokemon from its ball. It was met with a chorus of 'oos', and Guzma craned his neck to catch a glimpse. A dark-skinned youth stood next a magneton, a proud smile plastered on his face. Sparks sizzled dangerously from the edges of the pokemon’s magnets, illuminating the teen's features despite the darkness. 

 

"Pfftt," another retorted, stepping forward, "my salassie'll fuck him up in no time. Go!" 

 

Guzma watched with hitched breath as a salazzle burst onto the scene in a flash of violet light, staring down the magneton menacingly. On the trainers' commands, they started battling it out, exchanging attacks and sending literal bolts of electricity coursing jaggedly through the air. Guzma sat openmouthed on the edge of the swing as they clashed relentlessly, their moves bursting with colour like fluorescent fireworks in the night sky. 

 

Pokemon were so. Fucking. Cool. 

 

The evening carried on like this for a while; if the teenagers noticed the little kid watching them, they didn't say anything, probably too far gone into their merriment to give a shit. Guzma knew he had to leave soon, though, else the wrath from his pops would be even worse than usual.

 

He started to gather his things together, when he noticed another teenager step into the fray. He was a tall kid, with curly brown hair and a big frame. He had a cruel smile etched onto his face, the kind of expression that never paired well with what the future held. The other kids' attention naturally gravitated towards him, as though he was a dead centre of a chaotic solar system, and his peers were the planets. 

 

"Take a look at what I found on Poni island the other day," he sneered, laxly tossing a pokeball into the middle of the gathering crowd. Unceremoniously, a pokemon popped out that Guzma hadn't seen before... A scrawny little thing, with a silver shell that bore purple markings, and two yellow eyes that swam with nothing but anxiety. The poor pokemon was scared out of its wits, and quickly tried to scurry behind its trainers legs as soon as it came out of the ball. The cruel-looking teen merely kicked it back out into the open. "Fucking piece of shit coward," the teen drawled, looking down condescendingly at the pokemon. It had curled up defensively on its side, gently rocking in the grass. "You really were a waste of a pokeball, y'know that?"

 

A couple of the teens laughed mirthfully at the pokemon's misfortune; many of them just looked really uncomfortable. "Dude," started one, "it's a wimpod, what the hell did you expect?" 

 

"Even for a wimpod, it's fucking trash," its trainer retorted, watching maliciously as the wimpod cowered helplessly in the open. As Guzma watched, he could feel the cold metal of the swing handles dig into his palms as he clung on tightly. An unfamiliar feeling stirred up inside of him as he witnessed the display. 

 

"Not to mention really fucking gross," one boy added, his arms folded over his chest. "I know bug types are ugly, but lunala above, this one takes the piss."

 

"Yeah, maybe it needs beating into shape," another cooed, tossing a pokeball up and down with a grin. A couple of trainers 'wooped' in encouragement. Guzma's eyes narrowed -- this wasn't good.

 

"Fuck's sake Haruma, just let it go if you hate it that much," one teen interjected, looking sternly at the wimpod’s trainer. It was the kid with the magneton. "You've filled a slot on your pokedex, yeah? Good shit. But you guys clearly ain't fuckin’ with each other, so what's the point in keepin' it?"

 

The trainer called Haruma looked incredulously at the teen, before letting out a low laugh. "What, are you in love with the damn thing or somethin', Kaholo?" he scoffed. "If you really want it, you can take it off my hands. Who knows! It might be the perfect addition for your crappy little team." 

 

Kaholo looked genuinely conflicted. "I don't want it," he started, uncertainty lacing his tone. "But..."

 

"I'll 'ave him," interrupted a loud voice from outside the circle. The teenagers turned around to see a small lad of maybe 10 years old staring up at them angrily. His hands were planted squarely on his hips, his chest puffed out in an attempt to make himself look more intimidating -- a trifling task when you barely scraped five foot tall. 

 

"For the love of darkrai, the freakshow keeps growing and growing," Haruma chuckled, shaking his head. "So, you couldn't just stay put on the swings, huh? Just had to play with the big boys. What's ya name, kid?" 

 

Kaholo shot him a warning look, but Guzma ignored him, heart focused on the small wimpod gently quivering a few feet away from him. "Guzma," he answered boldly, despite the fear bubbling in his chest. Kenji smirked and gave the boy a quick once-over. 

 

"Guzma, huh? Doesn't sound very Alolan to me. Where you from?"

 

Guzma frowned a little at this unexpected line of questioning; he didn't really like talking about where he came from, especially to strangers like Haruma. "Kanto," he sniffed reluctantly. 

 

"Alreet Guzma from Kanto," Haruma purred, "I'm gonna give you ten seconds to haul your sorry ass outta here, and we'll forget that this ever happened, okay?" Guzma didn't budge, and a smile curled at the edge of Haruma's mouth. "If not, you can take the beating for your precious wimpod o'er there."

 

A low buzz erupted amongst the surrounding circle of teenagers. Some shot Guzma concerned looks, a few more jeered enthusiastically. Only Kaholo voiced what the silent minority were thinking. "Jesus, Haruma, he's like ten years old, yeah? Control your damage."

 

Haruma whirled to face him, visibly fuming. "I don't care if he's the fucking spawn of giratina," he growled, "the little shit is outta line, and he ain't the only one. D'you wanna get bruised too, is that it? 'Cause I will happily put you in the fucking queue."

 

Kaholo fell reluctantly silent. Despite the silently pleading looks from the other teens and the threat of imminent danger, Guzma stood his ground for the whole of Haruma's grave countdown. The bulky teen shook his head and chuckled lowly, approaching the young boy until they were within mere inches of each other. 

 

"You got more guts than this fuckin wimpod, I'll give you that one, kid. I admire that," he admitted mirthfully. Guzma winced as he smelled the familiar stench of alcohol lingering on the boy's breath. "But you've gotta learn an Alolan lesson. I'm the strongest trainer on this damn island, and I'll beat down anyone who gets in my way. So, who's it gonna be? Choose your sacrificial pokemon."

 

Guzma bit his tongue at that. "I... I don't have any."

 

"What, you serious kid?" he exclaimed, "Holy lunala, what the fuck were you gonna do? Take the damn punches yourself?" he was shaking his head vigorously. "You must be nuts! Tell you what though," he grinned, an evil smile blossoming on his face, "I'll letcha fight with that wimpod, just this once. Hell, if you win, you even getta keep it, scout's honour and all that. Whaddya say?"

 

Guzma bit his lip. On one hand, the whole reason he was in this mess was so that the wimpod didn't have to get hurt - was it really fair to subject him to the onslaught of whatever this bully had in store? But then, maybe this was the wimpod's only chance... Who knew what tortures he'd be subjected to if he was allowed to stay in Haruma's 'care'. 

 

Still, did he even really have a chance of winning..? Guzma took a look at the small pokemon; it was still curled up defensively, and looked decisively battered from whatever encounter it had endured on Poni island. Christ, Guzma didn't know much about Pokemon, but it was obvious it had like no chance of winning at all...

 

But then, they had to at least  _ try _ . 

 

"Yer on bro," Guzma accepted gruffly. 

 

Haruma smirked and shook his head. "Have it your way, kid," he murmured. He paced a few steps back before plucking a pokeball out of his jacket pocket. He tossed it high in the air, and out flew a wicked looking fearow, crying loudly as its feathers unfurled in the hazy moonlight. Guzma watched as wimpod shuddered in terror as the bird's shadow engulfed it in darkness. Again, Guzma knew fuck all about Pokemon, but he had been around the block enough to know that a bugs gelled with birds about as much a diabetic in a goddamn chocolate factory.

 

"Ready?" shouted Haruma from across the field. Guzma's eyebrows furrowed.

 

"One sec," he called back, running towards the wimpod. "I gotta introduce myself first."

 

Guzma ignored the howls of laughter erupting from the teens as he made his way towards the wimpod. He got to the ground, eye-level with the trembling bug pokemon. The dewey wet grass felt cold against his exposed knees, but in the summer heat, it was kinda refreshing. He leaned close to the wimpod, which was watching him anxiously.

 

"Hey, li'l buddy," he whispered, low enough that none of the other kids could hear them. "Guzma's gonna be real with ya, I think we're pretty fucked, yo. But I'll make you a promise... If we get through this, then one day, me 'n you, we're gonna show 'em whose boss, yeah? But until then, you're gonna have to be brave. You in?"

 

He didn't know how stupid he sounded, or how much the wimpod even understood, but he'd heard somewhere that pokemon responded to intent. He hesitantly extended his index finger towards the pokemon, who eyed it with a look that fell between apprehensiveness and curiosity. Slowly, though, it mirrored the action with one of its several spindly legs; Guzma couldn't help but smile as one of the limbs wrapped around his finger, delicately as a silver ribbon. 

 

"That's my boy," he grinned, beaming at the wimpod, "let's do this!"

 

"Dunnit make your heart melt," Haruma scoffed, watching Guzma as he got to his feet. The wimpod stood in front of him, still trembling, but with a strange determination swimming in its eyes. A few of the teens looked visibly impressed by the pokemon's sudden change of heart, even in the face of a formidable opponent such as fearow. The bird screeched impatiently, and Haruma clapped his hands emphatically. "Alright, alright," he yelled, "it's time to get this show on the road! Fearow, use quick attack!"

 

Guzma barely had time to react before the fearow cascaded down from the sky on nimble wings, its razor-sharp beak promising death from above. His heart sank a little as he realised he had no bloody clue as to what moves the wimpod actually knew.  _ Shit shit shit. _

 

"Wimpod, avoid 'im," Guzma tried, frantically. Much to his relief, the small pokemon scuttled out of the way in a hurry - it was surprisingly fast, the one good thing that had come from a legacy of running way. Fearow barely missed Guzma as it angled out of its nose-dive.

 

"Let's see how well you can run when you're flat on your back," Haruma growled, "use gust!"

 

The fearow spread its wings and began flapping sporadically, directing a torrent of air towards the ground. "Hold on, wimpod!" Guzma barked. The wimpod tried desperately to cling onto the grass, digging its front legs into the mud in an attempt to stay upright. The soggy grass provided no leverage, however, and wimpod's light body was sent hurtling through the air. It landed with a sickening splat some ten meters away, on its back with its vulnerable underbelly exposed.

 

"Get on your front, wimpod," Guzma yelled desperately, but the wimpod only managed in wiggling its limbs helplessly, obviously lacking the strength to flip itself over. Haruma's manic cackles rang out free and taunting into the atmosphere, and Guzma's fists clenched against his side. 

 

"Was that fuckin' it?" Haruma managed between cackles, "darkrai below, that was fuckin' shameful. Fearow, I think it's time to put this poor little shit out of its misery. Use drill peck!"

 

Guzma's eyes widened at the command; a few of the other teenagers looked decisively worried, too, as the fearow began gaining height. It began twisting its body, gathering speed before plummeting beak-first in a cascading spiral towards the unguarded wimpod. 

 

"No!" Guzma screamed. Adrenaline coursed through his body as he propelled himself towards the small pokemon, swiftly diving for it and gathering it up in his arms. The fearow's beak missed him by mere inches and he did a barrel roll across the grass, his body bent over the pokemon that he held tightly to his chest.

 

The fearow looked in a questioning daze as its trainer when it recovered from its hard landing. "What're you staring at?" Haruma growled, no trace of worry for his pokemon's wellbeing. "Fucking attack that wimpod!"

 

With a few beats of hesitation, it began scratching and pecking at Guzma's coiled back in an attempt to expose the wimpod. Guzma braced himself against the flurry of attacks, but they hit hard and fast; he'd been in his fair share of fights with other kids his age, but nothing could prepare him for  _ this _ .

 

"Li'l buddy," he managed to choke, peering down at the wimpod with tears stinging his eyes. "I'm sorry, li'l dude, I dunno how long I can keep this up." The wimpod's yellow eyes fluttered open, and it gave him a pleading look. "I'm trying," he coughed, as hit after hit pummeled him squarely in the back. His grip on the small pokemon was beginning to loosen. 

 

Suddenly, the night sky was illuminated by a fierce bolt of electricity crackling through the air. The assault of talons and feathers abruptly stopped, and was replaced by Haruma's frustrated screams splitting through his eardrums. 

 

Dazed, and clutching wimpod close to his chest like an unbreakable promise, Guzma dared to peek over his shoulder. Sure enough, the fearow had been felled, its body still twitching as the residual electricity coursing through its body played puppetry with its nerves. 

 

"Get outta here, kid!" Kaholo yelled, his magneton hovering over his shoulder. Guzma watched with wide eyes as some of the other teens started to level in on his saviour. Guzma's mouth opened to form some kind of protest, but Kaholo was having none of it. "Don't be fucking stupid!" he hissed, his magneton hovering protectively over him. "I can handle this, yeah, just fucking run!" 

 

Guzma didn't need telling a third time. He got to his feet, and started sprinting down the grassy decline of the park towards the fringe of the forest, ignoring as best as he could the pain that coursed through his back from the previous assault. Even through the blood rushing against his eardrums, he could make out the yells of Haruma issuing commands to his peers. 

 

Wimpod remained limp in his arms, occasionally making a slew of clicking noises that Guzma figured signalled discomfort. He had never held something so vulnerable before; even his uncle's baby in Kanto had felt more substantial than this mass of flimsy shell and straw-thin legs. This strange sense of responsibility was the only thing that kept Guzma running into the night.

 

Guzma wasn't the fastest kid, but something about the bundle in his care granted him an uncharacteristic swiftness as he weaved through the smattering of trees that laced the edge of the forest. He spared a glance over his shoulder, and through his spotting vision he could just about make out a small party of teenagers on his tail. He ignored the disgruntled cries of his lungs and pressed onwards, channeling suicune as he dodged thickets of brambles and raised roots.

 

In the thicker dregs of forest, the world suddenly became very dark. Guzma's pace slowed as he focused on avoiding the slew of vegetation that ran rampant, carefully meandering his way through the obstacle course of nature. Wimpod was beginning to liven up a little, chirping and clicking as Guzma stepped very deliberately over a fallen log. " _ Shh _ ," he whispered to the small pokemon, "I dunno if we're still being followed or not..."

 

The distant bark of a rockruff answered his question. " _ Shit shit shit _ ," he grunted, quickly scrambling towards a muddy bank. He tried to clamber down elegantly, but a combination of wet mud and askewed balance sent him skidding down the steep surface. He couldn't help but yelp as protruding branches snagged at his clothes and scratched at his arms, grazing his skin. He landed with a splash in a shallow stream, disturbing a family of sleeping araquanids and dewpiders that went scurrying away with the current.

 

_ "What was that?" _

 

_ "I dunno, man. Probs a magikarp or somethin'." _

 

Guzma could make out the voices at the top of the bank; they were way too close for comfort. He scrunched his eyes closed and pressed his back as far as he could against the muddy wall, willing it to absorb him into the Earth. He continued to listen carefully, not even daring to breathe. 

 

_ "We should still check it out though," _ one of the teens replied with a sigh.  _ "Fuckin' Haruma, why's he always gotta start shit like this. _ .." 

 

_ "Careful,"  _ another warned, _ "if he catches you talkin' like that, little rockruff there will get beat."  _

 

_ "Yeahh, I'm not lookin' forward to seeing what happens to Kaholo, to be honest. Crazy guy." _

 

Guzma couldn't help but wonder why the teenagers followed such a shitty excuse for a human being. If it was due to fear, then there was surely enough of them to rebel..? But then, people worked in weird ass ways. That was probably one of the reasons Guzma wasn't such a big fan of them.

 

Still, he couldn't help but feel a little pang of guilt for what had happened with Kaholo. If it wasn't for the vulnerable little bundle sat snug in his arms, he'd feel pretty irredeemable.

 

_ "We'll end up like Kaholo if we don't turn up with the goods," _ one of the teens groaned, _ "like, go check it out, man." _

 

_ "Alright, alright, I’m on it." _

 

Guzma held his breath as he heard a couple of figures scrambling down the bank. _ Fuck, fuck, fuck _ . It wasn't long before a rockruff came bounding into view, enjoying the feeling of water on its paws. It sniffed around a little, and Guzma had never willed himself so much to be invisible. Maybe if he just let wimpod go, it would be able to escape unharmed..? 

 

Too late. After sniffing around a little, the rockruff finally clocked onto him. It let out a shrill, excited bark, very unaware of the fate it was subjecting Guzma and the wimpod to. Its trainer followed quickly after, skidding elegantly down the bank. He was a tall, blond boy, adorned in a red hoodie and black jeans. He followed the rockruff's line of view, and his green eyes met Guzma's.

 

_ Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! _

 

_ "What is it?"  _ called the voice at the top of the bank. Guzma watched as the trainer's brows furrowed. He glanced at the wimpod, then at Guzma's pleading eyes, and then back at the wimpod. After what seemed like an eternity, the trainer sighed and shot a look to Guzma that said  _ 'you fucking owe me for this'. _

 

"It's nothin'," he shouted back, his gaze never leaving Guzma. "Just a couple o' dewpiders havin' a brawl." 

 

_ "Then get your ass back up here, we gotta lot of ground to cover." _

 

Guzma's eyes sang a thousand thank yous as the trainer turned to climb back up the bank. He just shrugged and left, leaving Guzma to sit in the mud, the wimpod close to his chest. Guzma stayed still and silent for a few minutes, making sure that both of the teenagers had left, before heaving a hearty sigh of relief.

 

"Well, little buddy, I think we're outta the woods, yo." He paused a moment, letting the irony of the sentence sink in. "Okay, not  _ literally _ , but Guzma'll get you out." He stood and tried to take wimpod with him, but the small pokemon scrambled in his grasp, trying to escape. Guzma felt pretty insulted, before finally guessing what the wimpod wanted.

 

The wimpod jumped into the water and splashed around a little, clearly ecstatic with this turn of events. It was still injured and battle-worn, but seemed somewhat rejuvenated by the slow stream of water flowing over its exoskeleton. Guzma couldn’t help but smile at the display.

 

"Aight, let's get you to a pokemon center," he grinned, watching his first pokemon follow him diligently down the stream. His back ached, and his clothes were caked with mud and small tears, but somehow, all of that seemed to give way to something important.

 


	2. Espresso

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all are being very sweet about this fic and it means a lot. Thank you! Again, please feel free to write any criticisms or something you enjoyed. Thank you for reading :)

  
A fair few wrong turns and a couple of rest stops later, and they finally reached the edge of the forest. By the time they reached the pokemon center, the sun had begun to rise, and wimpod has long since fallen asleep. Guzma cradled him carefully in his arms as he entered the building, relieved to finally be able to get the care that the little fella needed. It was only six in the morning, so there no other clientel being served; Guzma was grateful to march straight to the counter, leaving a muddy trail of footprints across the glossy tiled floor as he went. There was nobody there waiting for him, which was fairly uncharacteristic of the usually diligent nurses.

"Hey?" he called, trying hard to level his voice in such a way that didn't wake up wimpod.

"One moment!" called a female voice in reply. Within moments, a pink-haired nurse exited one of the staff rooms behind the counter. She was clad in the usual uniform, plus a pair of blue sanitary gloves that she took off with a satisfying snap. "Good morn-- oh my gosh," she exclaimed, eyes widening upon finally catching a glimpse of Guzma. "Are you okay?"

He hadn't had a chance to look at himself, but he knew by the nurse's concerned expression that he looked about as crap as he felt. "I'm fine," he lied, "I'm more worried about this li'l guy." He gently lowered wimpod down onto the counter; he didn't stir from his slumber. The nurse frowned.

"Yes, I'm sure he has seen better days," the nurse nodded gravely. In the light, Guzma could make out even more evidence of wimpod's abuse. The plates that made up his exoskeleton had several gauges furrowed into them, and the scratches were deeper than Guzma could have anticipated.

He really wanted to punch Haruma square in the fucking face.

"Do you have his pokeball?" the nurse enquired, inspecting wimpod more closely. Guzma's mouth went a little dry.

"Erm... why?"

"The rejuvenation procedure is more effective inside a pokeball," she explained impatiently. "May I have it?"

"Oh. Umm, no, sorry, I... er... lost it." Guzma lied sheepishly, scratching the back of his floppy black hair. The nurse gave him a disparaging look, and he wanted to be swallowed by the tiled floor.

"Really, you must be more careful!" she lectured, shaking her head as she loaded the wimpod onto a nursing trolley. It was lined with fluffy blankets. "It's no wonder wimpod is in such a sorry state. May I have your trainer passport so that I can calibrate a new pokeball with your trainer ID?"

"I forgot that too." His mouth felt like the drysand desert, each lie felt like grit in his mouth. The nurse sighed heavily.

"But surely you remember your ID number?" she pressed, her tone becoming less cordial with each successive question. Guzma just remained awkwardly silent, which told the nurse all she needed to know. "Your name, then?" she sighed.

"Oh! I'm Guzma," he answered quickly. She nodded and jotted something down on a clipboard, before attaching it to the side of the trolley.

"Thank you, Guzma," she said. "We're just going to perform a few tests on wimpod here..." she eyed him warrily. "We'd like to offer you a check-up, too, for no additional fee."

"No!" he yelped a little too hastily. The nurse raised an eyebrow, and he tried to backtrack a little. "I mean, I'm alright," he stammered, "just a little tired."

"If you're sure," she replied, in a tone that betrayed her scepticism. "Then please feel free to wander around and use the facilities," she said, motioning towards the corridor that led to the coffee shop and other amenities. "We'll try to have some news for you within an hour, okay? So please come back at... seven," she motioned towards the alolan meowth clock on the wall, its grey tail wagging back and forth in a pendulum.

"Will do, miss."

She gave him a forced smile as she carted wimpod away. _"The second one tonight... Honestly, what is the trainer school playing at these days?"_ she grumbled under her breath as she left the room.

Guzma watched her retreat, confident that wimpod was in good hands, despite how shady he must have come across. He stretched, groaning a little as pain shot down his back. Man, maybe he should have taken that check-up, consequences be damned...

He shook his head of that thought. _'Guzma, you just gotta walk around a little,'_ he said to himself, making his way towards the western corridor. As he pushed through the door, the instantaneous switch in aroma and decor was comforting. The smell of freshly ground coffee wafted down the hall, filling his head with sweet, caffeinated fumes. This was good shit.

He followed his nose for a few meters, walking past several closed shops and shitty paintings of palm trees and fruit bowls and whatever. He had just clocked the kind-looking barista behind the counter, when a familiar voice caught his attention.

"Well, look what the persian dragged in," it called out. Guzma glanced over his shoulder to see Kaholo sat down at one of the food court tables. His left eye was purple and swollen, and one of his arms was bound tightly in a cast suspended from his shoulder. With his free hand, he waved limply. Guzma's heart sank.

"Woah, dude," he gasped, taken aback. "Like, real talk, you look like shit." His eyebrows furrowed. "Erm... Thanks, though, for savin' my ass... How's magneton?"

"We've both seen better days, yeah," Kaholo sighed heavily. "But he's a champ, so he's gonna be just fine." He paused, taking in Guzma's dishevelled appearence. "Honestly, though, I'm just psyched you pulled through. How's that wimpod?"

"Not sure," Guzma admitted. "He looked pretty fuckin' beat, but I trust the lasses here to patch him up good and proper, yo."

"Mm," Kaholo nodded, satisfied with the answer. "He's in better hands than he was yesterday."

"For sure," Guzma agreed. He fell silent for a few moments, before giving in to his curiousity with a hefty sigh. "So, man, why'd you do it? Just stick your neck out for me like that?"

Kaholo didn't reply for a few moments, opting instead to just stare into the half-empty cup of cocoa in front of him. When he finally looked up, he managed a small smile, despite a good half of his face being swollen as fuck. "Why don't you grab a drink, yeah, and we'll talk about it? I could do with some company before old Hala comes back, anyhow."

When Guzma returned, it was with a large espresso, and a small, complementary pack of purple jellybeans. He took a seat opposite Kaholo, and dangled the jellybean packet between two fingers, grinning goofily. "Pokemon love these bad boys, yeah?"

"Mm-hm, wimpod is gonna be a happy lad for sure," Kaholo affirmed. "So, for real? He's your first pokemon, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Mental," Kaholo shook his head. "I thought every kid on the island had one, huh. Why's it taken you so long?"

Guzma squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. "My pops doesn't gel with 'em," he shrugged, staring into his espresso. "Thinks that they're a waste o' time and all that. To be honest, I dunno how I'm gonna explain wimpod to him."

Like he had any intention of telling him.

"Unlucky, man," Kaholo said, sipping his cocoa. "My li'l bro's your age, can't get enough of pokemon... It's kinda annoying, actually. He keeps brawlin' in his room with litten 'til like three in the morning... He wants to be a wrestler one day, crazy kid." He shook his head, but he couldn't help but smile plastered on his face, even through the pain shooting through his facial muscles.

"He sounds kinda nuts, yo," Guzma smirked. Kaholo just shrugged.

"Yup. To tell you the truth, though, that's kinda why I helped you," he confided. "Standin' up to Haruma like that? That's the kinda shit he'd pull." He looked steadily at Guzma. "When I saw you takin' those attacks, I saw our Kukui, too. I couldn't just stand back and watch."

Guzma didn't quite know how to react to that, quite unfamiliar with that particular strain of fraternal love. Instead, he homed in on something else that had been bothering him since the night before. "Why do you even hang out with Haruma, though?"

"Did," Kaholo corrected.

"Wha'"?

"'Why _did_ you hang out with Haruma', yeah," Kaholo elaborated with a sigh. "I don't think I'm gonna be welcomed again by him any time soon."

"Okay, whatever," Guzma pressed, not really one to care about semantics. "But why did you? I mean, you're an alright guy, but Haruma's just a _dick_."

Kaholo let out a long breath. "It's... complicated," he tried after a few moments of deliberation. "Like, he didn't always used to be that fucked up, y'know? But he's had it pretty rough... shit ain't good at home, and pokemon... well, I think pokemon are his best escape from all that. And he's good at it, yeah. Really fucking good." He frowned, visibly straining to articulate his thoughts. "Y'hear horror stories about someone's life, y'know, and you want them to have at least one good thing. You want them to get better. So..." he sighed. "I guess I just hoped things would get better on their own?" He paused, then, lowering his gaze. "And to tell you the truth, I guess I was scared shitless of him."

"Scared?" Guzma frowned. "But you've got magneton, yo. He can one hit fearow easy."

"There's more where fearow came from," Kaholo smirked darkly, angling his black eye in Guzma's direction. "He's got a pretty lit team, and a lotta kids look up to him, too... If they know what's best for them, that is," he sighed bitterly. "But like, from what I've heard, beatin' the shit outta people is the language he grew up with. I even feel kinda sorry for him, yeah."

Guzma had long since fallen silent. He could feel his blood gently boiling underneath his skin, burning his fingertips, searing the pathwork of bruises that decorated his back, his arms, his legs. Like any of that was any excuse to become a bully. There was no fucking excuse.

"I'm gonna train wimpod," Guzma declared suddenly, taking Kaholo aback a little. "We're gonna get strong, and then we're gonna teach Haruma a lesson that he won't forget."

Kaholo looked at Guzma as though he'd sprouted a second head. "Kid, do you have a fuckin' death wish?!" he hissed. "Think about wimpod for a second, yeah? Sure, if you train it hard enough, it might evolve into a fucking _beast_. But I don't think your wimpod has it in him, you'll probably kill him tryin' tha'... and yourself, too."

"What do you know?!" Guzma shot back, his voice raising. The two trainers were beginning to attract a lot of attention from the surrounding merchants and customers, but Guzma didn't seem to notice. "You don't know wimpod, man. We can do it."

"Kid, you've had your first pokemon for like, 8 hours," Kaholo hissed. "I've been trainin' them for seven years now, I know--"

"This ain't a fuckin' age thing!" Guzma interrupted, pounding his fist against the table. "Wimpod wants to get strong, I can feel it. And I promised him that I would help! And I'm not just gonna stand by as Haruma or whoever wrecks this island..." He trailed off, quickly running out of steam, and slumped back into his chair in frustration. Kaholo eyed him cautiously as the boy's inner tempest ebbed away before his very eyes. "Look, I'm sorry..." Guzma mumbled, cradling his espresso meekly. "I'm just... tired of adults tellin' me that I don't know shit."

"No, I'm sorry," Kaholo confessed solemnly. "Sure, you've only had wimpod for a few hours, but you've got a trainer's gut instinct, y'know? Just like our Kukui. I can see that now. But," his tone suddenly became grave. "I still mean what I said about Haruma, yeah? Don't go makin' beatin' him your main goal, or you might find yourself becomin' like him, too." He watched as Guzma's face scrunched up in disgust, and he interrupted him before he could protest. "No, kid, I mean it. You've got some wicked anger in you. So just... try to channel it into passion, yeah, and you'll be alright."

Guzma finished the last of the espresso; it wasn't the only thing leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He glanced up hopefully at the clock: 6:55. Thank arceus.

"Riiight," Guzma announced, getting up from his seat. He winced as he noticed the muddy stains that he had left on the upholstery. "Thanks for everythin', Kaholo. I've gotta go check on wimpod now."

The other boy nodded. "Take care of him," he said. "I think you're gonna make a great team. But, before you go..." with his free arm, he fumbled for a pen from his jacket pocket and grabbed a coffee-stained napkin, before scrawling something messily on its surface. The napkin slid around the table as he tried to write, and Guzma begrudgingly held it in place for him.

"Tah," Kaholo smiled, handing him the napkin. "This is my number. Hit me up if you've got any questions, or if you just wanna chat." Guzma inspected the writing; it was just about legible, despite everything. "Plus, I still think you 'n Kukui would get on like a pair of ol' digletts. If you ever wanna set somethin' up, let me know, yeah."

"Kukui?" Guzma repeated, curiousity finally getting the best out of him. "What, like the tree?" It would be nice to know he wasn't the only kid out there named after bloody plant life.

"Mm-hm," Kaholo answered. "The very same. But that's just our surname... He'd kill me if i told ya his first name, he hates it."

Now Guzma was definitely curious. "Yoo, he'd never know..?"

"Nuh-uh," Kaholo grinned. "Maybe he'll tell ya himself, one day."

"Cool," Guzma sighed, kinda disappointed. "Well, say thanks to magneton for me, yeah?" and with that, he jogged down the hall.

\--

When he got back to the lobby, it was showing a little more sign of life than when he had arrived. In one corner, a nurse was assisting a trainer in bandaging up his mankey's arm, but the pokemon just thrashed about wildly in protest. In another, a tauros bellowed angrily as one of its grazes was dabbed with antiseptic. Its trainer barely missed being made into a pokebab as he dodged the tauros' horns.

Pokemon were spirited little buggers, huh?

Guzma grinned. He couldn't wait to get started.

He walked up to the counter, hopeful that whatever news he heard would be good. When the nurse from before walked up to him with a grave look on her face, however, Guzma couldn't help but fear the worse.

"How's wimpod?" he questioned urgently.

"I assure you, he's fine," she said quickly, but the sternness to her tone stalled the sigh of relief bubbling in Guzma's throat. "But, we ran a background check on him," she pulled out a file with a bunch of mumbo jumbo on it that Guzma didn't quite get, but his eyes homed in on one detail.

"Mr. Guzma," she started sternly, motioning to the document, "Would you care to explain why wimpod is registered to a Mr. Haruma Go?"

Oh, fuck.

"I, erm..." he started sweating a little, feeling a little too small for the room he was stood in. _Fucking think_. "We traded?" he tried, voice cracking underneath the nurse's steely gaze. She was definitely not satisfied with that answer.

"Have you really learned nothing at trainer school?" she questioned irritably. "You have a responsibility to register any traded Pokemon to your trainer ID. As it stands, we'll have to call Mr. Go to verify the legitimacy of the trade before I can return wimpod to you. It's nothing personal, but--"

Guzma had stopped listening, all of the sounds of the world just becoming white noise in his head. _No, no, no, no._ He tried to formulate some kind of reply, some excuse, that could get him out of this mess, but again, his mouth had transformed into a desert.

"Mr. Guzma?" the nurse pressed, repeating whatever question she had asked, but he did not hear it. The only thing he could feel was the sense of dread filling up his body, making his limbs feel heavy like hot iron.

He wanted to grab wimpod, and run. Would he even get away with that? Could he--

"Alola! That won't be necessary, Miss. Joy," a booming voice interrupted his musings.

Guzma recognised the figure walking up to them; but then, anyone on the damn island would. Kahuna Hala was as much an institution of Melemele as the bloody beach and the palm trees. The nurse instantaneously arched her spine into a low bow. "Kahuna Hala!" she exclaimed, "welcome back."

"Please, just Hala," he chuckled; it seemed rehearsed, like he said it every day of his life. He walke up behind Guzma and placing a large hand on his shoulder. "Anyway, please give Guzma here his wimpod. I officiated he trade between him and Haruma myself this week, my apologies for not registering it yet. And here is young Guzma's temporary trainer ID," he handed over a small, plastic card. Sure enough, it had a few basic details on it, but no photo or finery characteristic of standard trainer IDs. "I apologise, the permanent one in the process of completion."

"No, not at all!" the nurse squeaked, taking the card and gathering up some paperwork. "I'll just get wimpod ready for dischage, it shouldn't take long." She scurried away, a dozen or so documents clutched in her hand.

Guzma looked up at Hala, his head swimming with dozens of questions. He'd never even talked to the old man before, so he didn't even understand how the kahuna had recognised him, let alone why he was making a _trainer ID_ for him.

"Kaholo told me what happened," Hala murmured knowingly. He offered no elaboration, but somehow the smile on his face told Guzma that everything was going to be okay. They stood in silence for a couple of minutes, before the nurse came dashing back, wheeling a trolley in front of her. On it lay a single pokeball, glinting with a new sheen in the fluorescent lights.

"I've updated our records," the nurse explained, placing a couple of papers on the table. She started to talk to Hala about some technical stuff whilst Guzma zoned out, his attention fixed on the pokeball. It had always astounded him how Pokemon could fit into such a small space, but knowing wimpod was inside seemed to make the sense of wonder much more real. Hala caught him gazing at it, and smiled.

"If I may?" Hala said to the nurse, gesturing to the ball. "I think the boy misses his pokemon."

"Of course," the nurse replied, passing over the small sphere. Hala placed it gently in Guzma's hands, and his fingers wrapped instinctively around it. He was amazed by how light it was, as though it contained nothing more than air. The metal was cold to the touch, and yet a sense of warmth spread through his chest in its presence.

"Guzma," Hala said warmly, bringing him back down to Alola. "Could you please read this?" He gestured to a document on the table, and Guzma read the clause above the signature space.

_'I hereby agree that I, trainer A, accept the aforementioned conditions of trade (b), thereby releasing ownership rights of the pokemon as specified in (b.i.), and accepting ownership of the pokemon as specified in (b.ii.)'._

Guzma scanned the rest of the document quickly. Apparently wimpod had been traded for a muk. Huh. Strangely apt.

There was also a clause for 'trainer B'.

"Do you have any questions?" asked Hala patiently. Guzma glanced worriedly at the second paragraph. "Don't worry about that," Hala said, a twinkle in his eye. "I'll be sure to find Haruma later."

Guzma nodded, and could barely hold his pen steady as he scrawled his signature on the page. _So it was official. He actually owned a pokemon._

"Thank you, that will be all," the nurse said, bowing her head slightly. Hala gathered a few documents together, and gave his thanks.

Guzma followed the kahuna to a small seating area at the back of the pokemon center, free from prying eyes and eavesdroppers. Guzma would have felt intimidated, sat in the shadow of such a large man, if it weren't for the genuine sense of warmth he radiated like some fantasy father-figure. "So," Hala asked, nodding at the pokeball, "how does it feel?"

Guzma could barely contain his grin in response. "Ace," he answered instantly. "I can't wait to start trainin' him."

Hala chuckled. "You have spirit, I like that!" he boomed, patting Guzma on the arm. "But _maybe_ you should take it slow for now." He started flicking through some of the papers, shaking his head at some of the details. "Little wimpod there has been through a tough time, as have you. Please take some time to recover." The advice was uncharacteristically solemn of the kahuna. Guzma's felt the weight of it tangibly.

"Okay," Guzma answered, a little deflatedly.

"Thank you," Hala smiled, tone lifting a little. "And please, do not worry about Haruma," he added. "I will make precautions so that can not hurt you, nor any pokemon, ever again."

Guzma would have believed him, if it weren't for the fact that people like Haruma couldn't change. Still, he nodded limply, and this seemed to be enough to satisfy the kahuna.

"With that said, please promise me that you won't go chasing Haruma, either. You were very lucky that Kaholo was there. Next time--"

"I know, I know," Guzma groaned; this was beginning to feel a lot like _deja vu._ "He's dangerous."

"Yes, and I think you could be, too," the kahuna stated. "Few trainers could inspire courage in a wimpod like the way you did last night, not to mention a boy who has never even trained a pokemon before. You have great potential as a trainer, but it needs to be channeled the right way. That's why I would like to invite you to join the trainer school."

"Trainer... school?"

Hala spent the next half an hour or so talking about the basics of the institution; the curriculum, the teachers, and the other students. Guzma listened avidly, a rare sense of excitement holding his attention captive. It wasn't that he was a dumb kid, as so many of his teachers claimed. In fact, he was rather bright. It was just that he found it hard to concentrate on shit that didn't interest him, and that just so happened to be a goddamn lot.

Trainer school, though? Nothing had lit up his imagination more in his life.

"The new school year starts in a month," Hala explained. "We get a big intake of kids your age around then. Then next year, you'll be primed and ready to start your island challenge!"

Of course, Guzma had heard of the island challenge, but he had never dreamed of taking it himself. His pops would have none of it.

And that's when it hit him like a tonne of bricks. _His goddamn father._

"Thanks for everythin' an' all," Guzma sighed dejectedly, "but pops would never let me go. I'm already goin' to some fancy business school in the city."

"That's a shame," the kahuna hummed gently. "Do you want me to talk to him for you?"

"N-no!" Guzma stuttered, a little too quickly for Hala's comfort. "It's alrigh', I don't care that much anyways, yo." He knew that the kahuna would never fall for his lie, but that was better than inviting the him to talk to his old man. Indeed, Hala looked perplexed, but shrugged it off.

"Well, it's up to you," he said, standing. "But if you ever change your mind, then please don't hesitate to call me, or any of the teachers at the school." He dug out a flier from his shorts' pocket. On the front was a group of kids and their pokemon all sat outside in the Alolan sun. They were all beaming. "You will always be welcome."

Guzma begrudgingly tucked it away in the same pocket as Kaholo's phone number. "Alright, tah," he shrugged. He glanced at the clock: just after 8. Maybe if he ran home, he'd be able to sneak in before anyone before anyone woke up...

"Please take care of yourself, Guzma," Hala smiled, "and wimpod, too."

"I will," he said, despite his uncertainty. Whilst he could make no promises about himself, though, he was determined he was going to keep wimpod safe, no matter what the cost.

 


End file.
